


Pity the Bird with Broken Wings

by timehopper



Series: Clipped Wings [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (but only if you squint), Angst, Gen, Gency, Genji/Mercy - Freeform, takes place during Uprising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 08:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10552942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timehopper/pseuds/timehopper
Summary: "He rasps another scream and drags his hands down to brace palms against the cool surface of the smooth wall (smooth like his skin used to be, before the scarring, before dragons dug their bladed claws into his arms and tore at his chest, his legs, his throat, his heart)."He's meant to test her. To train her. But he never expected her to win so decisively, and something in Genji breaks further.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't help but notice how angry Genji looked in the few panels he was in in Uprising, and I felt like I should explore some of that potential anger.

His palms hit the ground just in time to stop himself from landing right on his face, and he pushes himself up again, whirling round and whipping three shuriken at her _onetwothree_ , but she’s out of their path (out of his sight) as soon as the leave his hand. She’s behind him before he can turn around, gun pressed to the back of his neck. He doesn’t feel it through the metal and wires but for the _tap_ of contact.  
  
“Gotcha, love!”  
  
His nose wrinkles, teeth bare in a grimace ( _in disgust_ ) beneath the mask. Nobody watching can see it, but the narrowing of his eyes is enough to give away how feels. He sees Dr. Ziegler’s arms drop to her sides in his peripheral vision. She’s concerned, probably. Worried for him. It should make him feel better, but all it does is make him feel worse. His fists clench and he moves to turn around; he raises his hand, three more stars already sliding through the gaps between his fingers –  
  
“I think that’s enough, now!”  
  
Winston’s voice booms into the room, and Genji lowers his arm slowly. Lena laughs and looks up at the observers, eyes wide and so so so happy, so pleased with herself. Her smile is infectious to the people looking down on them; they all beam back at her, though not quite so radiantly. Genji looks away, scowling at the wall in front of him.  
  
“How’d I do, boss?” Lena calls, practically bouncing on her toes. Genji doesn’t care to listen to the conversation. He turns on his heel, hating the quiet scraping _screech_ the motion makes as metal grates against the ground. Normally he could mask the noise, move silently. But they aren’t paying attention to him now, so the sound goes unnoticed anyway.  
  
He ignores Dr. Ziegler when she calls after him.  
  
\-----  
  
Genji walks swiftly through the hallways, looking for somewhere – anywhere – where he can be alone. The building is infested, though, people everywhere chatting and conversing and acting for all the world like nothing is wrong (because to them nothing _is_ wrong, they are healthy and whole and happy in their own skin, the blessed bodies they take for granted) and all he wants is to get _away_ from them.  
  
Finally, he finds an isolated hallway, and he stops, stares at the wall. It is blank, white, nothing there. Yet to be marked. Yet to be marred. Scarred.  Broken.  
  
His face distorts again under the mask, nose scrunching and lips twisting in a snarl. He reaches forward, slams two fists against the wall (one flesh – painful – one mostly metal) and screams. He is far enough away from anyone else that nobody will hear him. And that’s what he wants – to stew in this private moment of rage, of grief. His chest heaves not from exertion but from inability to get enough air into his lungs. He rasps another scream and drags his hands down to brace palms against the cool surface of the smooth wall (smooth like his skin used to be, before the scarring, before dragons dug their bladed claws into his arms and tore at his chest, his legs, his throat, his heart). He wishes he could dig his fingers in and tear it apart. Maybe he can. He’s stronger now. Stronger than he’s ever been. But it’s not enough, not enough; it’s not enough to beat some stupid rookie, not enough to get his revenge, not enough to find not enough to fight not enough to kill –  
  
He pulls himself away from the wall quick as lightning as he feels something shift behind him unseen and _onetwothree_ again the shuriken fly and embed themselves in the wall. Marked. Scarred. Gabriel Reyes leans to the side, the stars two inches from his head, gun pointed right at Genji. The cyborg relaxes, but his eyes remain narrow red slits in the small patch of skin free from his mask. Part of him wishes he had added another few scars to Reyes’ face.  
  
“What’re you doing, Shimada?” Reyes asks. He lowers the gun as Genji’s shuriken slide back up into his arm. “Shouldn’t you be helping the new kid train?”  
  
His fingers twitch at the address. Shimada. He stopped being a Shimada long ago. But he lets it slide for now. “Training is over. She did well.” _Very well_ , he doesn’t say. _Well enough to beat me._  
  
Reyes seems to pick up on what he doesn’t hear. He nods slowly, carefully, like he’s examining something particularly troublesome. It’s an old look, too familiar to Genji. The same one his father wore when something went wrong, and the same one he saw just hours before he –  
  
“And you?” Reyes cuts through his thoughts like blades through flesh. Another familiar image. Genji glowers. Bastard already knows the answer.  
  
Genji pauses. Deliberates. “…I do not need your pity.”  
  
“I don’t pity anyone,” Reyes answers, not missing a beat.  
  
“Then don’t start.”  
  
Reyes glares, but says nothing else. Genji shoves his way past him, hard, metal shoulder knocking against flesh and bone and cloth. Reyes doesn’t flinch. Genji hates it (himself) just a little bit more. Still not good enough.  
  
“Shimada—“  
  
“Leave me. There is no reason to be concerned. I will be ready for the next mission.”  
  
Reyes doesn’t move, just fixes the cyborg with a hard stare. “You’d better be.”  
  
Genji does not respond. He just walks. Walks away from Reyes, from the hallway, from the flawless white walls mocking him (not so flawless, not now he’d made his mark). He passes through a doorway, out of Overwatch and into the dark corners of his own thoughts. He has so far to go, so high to climb. Because if he isn’t strong enough now, not with all the cybernetic enhancement, with the increased speed, the heightened senses, the impossible durability of his chassis, then how will he ever be strong enough to face his past?  
  
How will he ever be strong enough to face his brother again? To win?

How will he ever be strong enough to kill Hanzo Shimada?

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this and are interested in seeing more or even just having a chat, feel free to contact and/or follow me on twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r), my [personal tumblr](http://therealhousewivesofhyrule.tumblr.com/), or if you're just interested in my Overwatch stuff then at my [Overwatch sideblog](http://naptimefornaughtyrobots.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I also have a [writing blog](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com) where I post progress, WIPs, and take requests. Please check that out if you'd like to see more!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and supporting me. ♥


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